Well, as the saying goes, I’ve got some good news and some bad news. Which do you want to hear first?

Let’s start with the good news. I have a new job. I’m “Moms Moderator” for an exciting new website called Lafayette Moms.

I’ll be writing stories, gathering information for local parents, and moderating the website to make sure all the moms play nice with each other. We’ve been up and going for awhile now and things are looking great.

I hope you’ll come over and hang out at Lafayette Moms to continue to read my reflections and talk with other moms. We are striving for a local flavor to make Lafayette Moms unique among the many parenting sites out there. We'll have discussion boards, kid photo galleries, seasonal ideas, contests, events -- all kinds of happenings and fun.

Oh, yeah, I said there was some bad news, too, didn’t I? Well, here it is: Widen My Heart will be a thing of the past. I won’t be writing this blog anymore.

But I will still be easy to find. Please come and check out Lafayette Moms. You’re welcome to be a voyeur, but I promise it’s simple and painless to join.

Finally, let me offer my sincere thanks to my supportive readers, especially those of you who left comments. I have enjoyed the conversation. Let’s keep it going at our new venue.

Well, the Rockies won their 10th game in a row last night, setting a franchise record. (Photo by Chris Carlson/AP).

They are tied with San Diego for second in the wild card race, one game behind the Phillies and only two games behind the division leading Arizona Diamondbacks.

The Rockies are doing everything they can, but their fate hinges on how other teams play, too. So, I am in the awkward position of hoping teams will lose.

We’re talking about Philadelphia and San Diego, two cities I actually like. I lived in Philly for a couple of years and took in a ball game or two. I was part of that collective groan of disbelief when Mitch “The Wild Thing” Williams blew the ’93 World Series for the Phils.

But my problem goes way beyond loyalty to the City of Brotherly Love.

I have always liked to win, but not as much as I’ve liked other people to feel good. I have referred to this as a lack of ambition, although it probably has more to do with trying to avoid conflict. I’d rather concede than compete.

It’s probably socialized behavior, but it feels cellular. I have this internal cringe at the idea of some people suffering so others can celebrate. Yes, I cringe on a daily basis.

Of course, not everyone can win the wild card spot -- or the World Series. And I really, really want it to be the Rockies.

So, I will try to psyche myself up for “cheering” for the other teams to lose while I cheer for the Rockies to win. I think it’s their turn.

I don’t usually write about sports. Heck, I don’t usually think about sports.

But baseball is different – especially when it comes to my home team, the Colorado Rockies.

The Rockies sprung to life in September. Hot hitter Matt Holliday started knocking balls out of the park almost every day. The Rocks have won their last 8 games. Now, they are one game behind the Padres and Phillies who are tied for the wild card slot.

Only 6 games remain.

The Rockies swept the Padres at home this week which led to some heated moments. On Sunday, Padres player Milton Bradley went after an umpire he claims directed profanity towards him. In the process of holding Bradley back, Manager Bud Black spun him around and tore his ACL. He’s out for the season and maybe some of next, too.

The boys and I watched the recap on ESPN.com.

There are some gaps in what we could see. We couldn’t hear any profanity (fortunately). We couldn’t see whether or not Bradley tossed his bat towards the home-plate umpire as claimed.

Still, something came through loud and clear in Bradley’s behavior and in his locker room recap afterwards. He doesn’t believe he did anything wrong.

Now, it may be that both player and umpire bear some responsibility. But when you lose your temper and attack someone, then you lose, period.

We have this issue at home. One boy is like the umpire, baiting the other with taunts. And the other is like Bradley, an explosion waiting to happen. Afterwards, he claims to remember nothing.

Hopefully, watching Bradley stumble taught the boys something. I wish sports folks would have the courage to say that players must control their tempers, no matter how they’re heckled or how heated the playoff race gets.

Autism seems to be one of those running themes in my life. In graduate school, I was mentored by Sally Rogers, one of the foremost clinicians in the field at the time. When I worked in the schools in Maryland, I was part of a team that guided the evolution of a preschool program for children with autism. We consulted with Rebecca Landa, a pacesetter in early identification and intervention of children with autism.

I viewed these women as role models because they were smart, successful, and cared deeply about children. I learned a lot from them, some of it about autism. The experiences were seeds that I’ve hoped would someday bear fruit.

Then, last year, my boys became friends with a smart, funny, friendly boy who also happens to have some characteristics of autism. At first, I looked at this child through the eyes of a clinician. I analyzed his words and actions. I tried to alter the environment to make him more comfortable. I wanted to show him -- and everyone else -- how much I knew, and how well I understood.

Only, of course, I didn’t.

As the school year progressed, I learned that I still had a lot to learn. From watching this boy’s parents, my own children, and his many other friends, I came to understand that children with autism are children first. They cannot be defined by a medical diagnosis.

None of us can.

Now, if I happen to write about children with autism, I’ll have a different take on things. It’s a perspective I probably never could have attained from a professional distance.

I’m reading an interesting new book called Unstrange Minds by Roy Richard Grinker. He’s an anthropologist – and the father of a daughter with autism.

I haven’t finished the book yet, but Grinker’s premise is that the “epidemic” of autism has much to do with how we’ve chosen to define the disorder. For example, the creation of autism as a category of educational disability has contributed to the explosion of children diagnosed with autism in the schools. And, because we’ve developed the giant, inclusive category of Autism Spectrum Disorders, almost all children with some of the neurological symptoms of autism meet the diagnostic criteria.

Grinker points out that increased awareness of autism has led to earlier identification and improved services, and benefited many children and families. But, he suggests, it may also have created the illusory impression of an autism epidemic. He’s not saying the neurological condition isn’t real; he’s just saying that the spike in diagnoses may not mean what we tend to presume.

I suspect many will dispute Grinker’s theory. Some firmly believe mercury-containing vaccines or other environmental toxins are to blame for the striking increase in autism diagnoses.

I don’t know where the truth lies – probably somewhere in-between, as usual. But I do think the anthropological view is worth considering.

Often, whatever we label a phenomenon – or a person – is what it becomes. Create a category and it fills up.

The one I promised to love, honor, and never write about came home from work the other day and stared at my head.

“What?” I asked, mentally running through a list of all the things I could have managed to get in my hair during the course of a day. Once, in Florida, a bird pooped on me, but I figured I would have noticed that.

He peered closer. A smile spread across his face.

“What?” I repeated, starting to worry. What could be in my hair? And, better question, how long had it been in there?

“It might be the light,” he said, finally.

“What?!” I ran my hand through my hair. I didn’t feel anything out of the ordinary.

“Right there,” he said, pointing a finger at my temple. “I think I found your first gray hair.”

I raced to the bathroom mirror and – sure enough – there were a couple of strands of decidedly not blond hair curling around my temple.

I wasn’t really upset, just a little stunned. I thought my fair hair would withstand the ravages of time a bit longer. But down the road seems to have arrived on my doorstep.

Of course, you won’t hear me unless you drive to work in Indy early in the morning and tune in to WFYI or listen over the Internet in streaming audio.

Here’s how it happened. I’ve submitted no less than 10 essays to NPR’s national essay call-out, This I Believe. My 11th one is going to be about how I believe in never giving up.

Anyhow, I haven’t made the national cut yet. But WFYI broadcasts essays written by Indiana authors. Last week, I got an email asking if I’d come in and record my most recent effort at their studio in Indy.

So, I did.

Scott Hoke, WFYI's Morning Edition host, put me at ease and made the whole thing fun. I read an essay I wrote about my efforts to see past political differences to the people behind the viewpoints.

My essay will be broadcast at 5:35 and 7:35 tomorrow morning. Sometime later, it should be available by podcast.

I’m not giving up on scoring a spot on the national program. Still, this was a nice intermediate step.

I’m reading a book called Speaking of Faith by Krista Tippett, host of the Public Radio show of the same name.

It’s a smart and interesting book about the intersection of faith and reason and the search for a belief system that grows along with us. I love the idea that faith can be fluid, rather than fixed. It just makes sense. Shouldn’t our faith continue to evolve like everything else? Shouldn’t we go deeper into the stories and mystery as we grow, rather than staying penned in by tenets that don’t jibe with what our maturing minds and hearts tell us is true?

I believe so.

Tippett quotes many of my favorite people in her book, including Albert Einstein and Dietrich Bonhoeffer. All her sources manage to look beyond the apparent in search of the divine. I can’t help trying to do the same. And I love to read the insightful comments of other seekers.

If you, too, long for a faith that encompasses the ever-expanding breadth of the heart, mind, and soul, then I suggest this book as an affirming and enlightening read.

About three years ago, I recalled my childhood dream of writing after a neighbor referred to herself as a writer. That’s possible? I thought. I began to journal and read books about writing. I found Julia Cameron’s books especially helpful.

My first public foray came when My Life, My Storypremiered in the spring of 2005. The topic was advice from mothers. I wrote about how my mother told me thong underwear was for the birds (now, there’s a disturbing image). Anyhow, my essay was one of several chosen for the inaugural feature.

I still write for My Life, My Story. But, now, writing is my vocation, as well as my avocation. I write regularly for websites and print magazines.

There is a point to all this.

I expect my participation in My Life, My Story to taper off a bit as I get busier with other writing projects. That’s okay. But I’d like to see the local feature continue to thrive.

My Life, My Story has a new flavor under Opinions Page Editor Linda Hughes-Kirchubel. Some topics are personal -- others, more political. All would make wonderful assignments for students. And, of course, essay writing is great practice for any aspiring writer.

If you’d like to receive the list of topics and give it a try, contact Linda. Who knows? It might mark the beginning of a whole new life. Full Post »

I’m aware of the irony that a mere 10 years ago I was a graduate student like the young woman I just talked with on the phone. I can’t speak for her, but I know I never anticipated needing parenting help. But, then, I didn’t have children.

We like to think that people who commit acts of violence are somehow different from the rest of us. But I think the true difference lies in circumstance and reaction. Toxic environments can lead to violent outcomes. Columbine appears to be a prime example. Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold let the jocks and the inequity of the system get to them -- with horrible consequences. See Bad Apples or Sour Pickles? for more on this theory.

I never intended to create a home environment where one child thrives at the expense of the other. Still, somehow, it seems to have happened. And I worry about violent impulses. It may sound extreme, but fratricide happens between twins more than you’d think.

I don’t think any kids are bad apples. I just want to make sure my boys don’t become sour pickles, either. So, I’m going to try and make the home environment less acidic.

Here’s a bit of shocking news. The boys have been competing with each other.

But their latest rivalry has me a little unnerved -- and a little nauseated.

Yes, I am talking teeth again.

Wesley pulled out two within a couple days of each other last week. And, this week-- after determined wiggling -- William managed to dislodge one tooth and nearly free a second. Today, he came home from school with a blood-stained t-shirt and went to bed with his hand still in his mouth.

The tooth fairy is getting weary -- not to mention broke. I assume. Of course, I have no way to know for certain.

The twins tend to lose teeth close together, and in clusters. Almost four in about as many days must be a house record, though. And the timing couldn’t be better.

First, if you love words the way I do, check out Wordsmith.org. Perhaps you’d like to subscribe to get a new word a day. I just did, and I am excited. But that’s me.

Second, I got referred to this website from the website of Kate DiCamillo, author of Because of Winn-Dixie, The Tiger Rising, The Tale of Despereaux, and The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane, which the boys and I are reading right now.

I have decided that Ms. DiCamillo is my absolute favorite children’s book author, which is saying something because I love about a million children’s authors and generally find it impossible to choose favorites. However, she is worthy. Read her books, and find out why.